


From Her Breast The Gift of Life

by ravenhowlett



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Anakin Skywalker Hates Sand, Angst, Angst and Feels, Bitterness, Bittersweet, Child Luke Skywalker, Childhood, Childhood Memories, Children, Flowers, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghost Anakin Skywalker, Force Ghost(s), Force Sensitivity, Force Visions, Gen, Gift of Life, Heatwaves, Introspection, Love, Melancholy, Memories, Minor Injuries, Motherhood, Plants, Regret, Storms, Sunrises, Sunsets, Tatooine (Star Wars), Tatooine Slave Culture, That's Not How The Force Works, The Force, Water, an abundance of commas, sand, sandstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23541955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenhowlett/pseuds/ravenhowlett
Summary: A woman stands alone in the desert, desperately wondering if this is all there is for her and her unborn child; a young boy wanders alone in the desert, desperately searching for a source of life in a harsh wasteland; an apparition of a man long dead shimmers alone in the desert, desperately trying to reconnect with the life he left behind.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	From Her Breast The Gift of Life

**Author's Note:**

> we love introspection and angst! i wrote this in about a day in my notes app on my phone so there may be a few errors/typos. (let me know if u find any!) enjoy!
> 
> also, fun game! count how many times the word "sand" is appears lmao

Abrasive sandstorms and oppressive heatwaves, twin suns so bright your skin felt stretched too thin on your body, eyes stung even when they were closed, the dry cracked ground so hot it could scorch the soles of your feet through your boots if you stood still long enough, these were the living conditions of the desert wasteland called Tatooine. A planet that has never known an abundance of water, not even the kindness of a shared canteen among friends, but has somehow fostered an environment that could sustain the happiness of a small child, and through him the life of a single flower in all its harshness.

A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, a small glittering spec appeared, hardly visible in the shimmering heat of the desert surrounding the Lars Homestead. It flickered and it warped until it finally gained its intended shape of a young man in dark robes. His form glowed even in the light of the dual suns, with a sort of blue transparency to him. He was otherworldly and yet he was completely ordinary. He looked on at the homestead and found he did not need to shield his eyes from the glaring suns, his eyes no longer sensitive to their brilliant heat as they once were. He wandered into the lower levels of the home, trailing his fingers along dusty workbenches and abandoned projects, glimpsing into the past of their history, of those who touched this place before, of those who touched this place last. Not all who used the Force could witness an objects’ past just by touch, it took a great deal of concentration and meditation, but to one, it came with no effort at all. He could hold a child's hand and feel the warmth of their parent's hand lingering, hours, days, weeks, even months afterward. A single sip of water could reveal to him it's path from cloud to rain to basin. Even now as an apparition, long since he gave himself to the Force, back to the light, he could touch anything with the Force and see all.

He stood now in what was left of a teenagers room, old posters of speeders still hung on walls while in one corner the relics of childhood stood dormant in their dust, a toy podracer missing it's pilot sat pathetically lonesome on a shelf, a goldmine of lonely childhood playtime in the scorching heat outside. Not able to bear how much he missed of this child's life he found himself outside again, craving distance from the orphan he created. On the plot of land just behind the Lars property near the back entrance there was an old water basin, its lid askew, the water no doubt dried up by now, and next to it on the ground a small tin cup filled with sand. When he held it he could only feel an imprint of the dry heat. Beyond that he felt so much more. When he looked up he saw a small young boy burst through the back door, his shoulders covered by a protective poncho and his head and hands covered by hat and gloves, as he walked into the morning sunrises. On his belt was a canteen that sloshed with precious water and in his hands was a compass and a crudely drawn map. He seemed to be searching for something. The boy wandered for some time until the suns were at their highest and sweat made his poncho stick to his thin frame.

Wind was starting to pick up, whipping at the sandy hair peeking out of his hat, but the boy's steps didn't falter. After some time the landscape began to change from dry and cracked hard earth to loose and slippery sand. His feet would sink into it with every step, no doubt filling his small boots. Eventually he came to a stop, reaching for his canteen from his belt and taking a quick but generous sip. When he looked up it was like he finally noticed his surroundings had changed. The suns were still high in the sky but now there was sand and other detritus whirling around him, scraping his face like small knives and leaving trails of blood across his cheeks, marring the dusting of freckles there. He pulled the hood from his poncho up and tugged the drawstring until it was tied at his chin then pulled a pair of goggles from his belt and secured them over his eyes and then continued on his journey.

Eventually the boy stopped again and crouched down, his hands digging furiously into the sand around something small. When he finally dug deep enough he pulled the thing free and gingerly placed it into a pouch on his belt, zipping it slowly. And then he turned around and started walking back the way he came. At least, he thought he was. With all the wind and sand blowing everywhere he was beginning to feel turned around. He could hardly even see his compass anymore and sand was even beginning to collect under his goggles. What would he do? The sandstorm was in full effect now, if he didn't make it home soon he would run out of water and surely perish, lost and alone.

But he wasn't alone. A tall figure dressed similarly to the boy came into view, effortlessly scooping him into his arms and shielding him under his own poncho. The boy desperately clinged to this man as he walked through an unclear path, somehow knowing without seeing where he was going. He walked and he walked until the Lars Homestead was finally in view again. He came up behind the domed roof of the home, using it to block the brunt of the storm and stepped right up to the water basin-full again of clear and delicious water-near the back door and set the boy down, lifting the cup and making sure the boy drank plenty, watching as water dripped from the corners of his mouth and down his chin until it dried, leaving trails on his dirty face. The man took the cup then and drank only one gulp of water before patting the boys head. He whispered something to him and then he turned around and started walking again, disappearing into the storm and away from the boy. The boy entered his home and slammed the door shut against the storm, leaving the apparition alone in the heat.

As soon as the door was closed the sandstorm ended, all signs of it now missing. The day was calm again with the suns setting low, a warm breeze passed by him, left him wanting to feel it tickle the hair at the back of his neck even though he wasn't affected by the heat. He wasn't sure how long he was out there, whether it was moments or months, but he couldn't leave, couldn't just blip out of existence away from this place that held so much history, so many stories of the lives who dwelled here for decades. How could he walk away now? To leave would be to quit, to give up. But to stay, that would be torture, forcing himself to witness all that he lost, all that he left behind, all that he forfeited when he betrayed the Light. He would stay, and he would bear the weight of it.

When he was able to think again, he stepped away from the shade of the house when something peculiar caught his eye. Some small scrap of a thing poked right out of the ground, bright like the suns and beautiful like-

Like her.

He knelt in front of the small sunflower and traced a finger along its delicate petals, careful not to jostle them too much. And then he saw her.

Shmi Skywalker stood alone in the middle of the desert, nothing but her drab dress weighed down with her sweat and the soles of her boots starting to melt on to the hard cobbled ground. Her belly, full with child, grumbled in miserable hunger as she watched the suns rise. She knelt down and began digging into the ground, her fingertips and nails catching and tearing from her brutal treatment, desperately trying to hurry. She'd only have a few more moments to herself before she had to return to her master and complete yet another long day of manual labor. Finally she finished digging, drops of blood dripping from her fingers into the hole, she reached into her blouse and pulled from beneath one breast a seed, hidden and protected near her heart and planted it in the hole. Once she patted the dirt back in place she lifted a hand to wipe sweat away from her face but found tears instead. One tear slipped down her cheek and landed on the freshly dug earth, drying immediately.

The apparition wanted to reach out to her, wanted to hold her and whisk her away from this punishing life but he knew he could not reach her here. When he blinked she was gone and in her place was a brilliant yellow sunflower, its petals vibrant despite the climate and ever changing landscape. The young boy from before approached the flower now and began digging around it, sand flying everywhere, his fingertips bloody through their gloves. In one moment he tucked the flower into his pouch and in another he was removing it, suddenly back on the Lars property. He was no longer coated in grime and sweat from the storm, recently showered and wearing only thin sleep pants and slippers as he crept to the edge of the lot. He knelt again and stroked his hand over the dirt there, brushing it away from a pile of rocks. He dug again, careful of his sore fingers, until there was a hole and gently placed the sunflowers roots that were somehow still in tact inside and then started pushing the dirt back in place. Once he was done he jumped up and ran over to the water basin near the door, dipping the cup in and bringing the precious water over to the flower, stepping slowly and carefully as he went. He bent again and poured the cupful of water and waited until long after the water seeped into the dirt. Sometime later a young woman stepped through the back door and called out to the boy.

"Luke, it's time to come inside! Uncle Owen is turning on the air conditioner now."

And then the boy was gone again.

The apparition continued to stroke the petals of the flower long into the night, clinging to the memories surrounding them, feeling the life in them. He reached out one final time and felt the roots of the sunflower burrow deep, deep into the ground, where they reached the remains buried there now, cradling her, protecting her from the harsh arid climate of the planet. It's life, sustained with little more than a cupful of water, a single tear, and a few drops of lifeblood, long since forgotten but thriving no less.

Eventually Anakin stood up. He took one last look at the sunflower and then at the Lars Homestead and then his image faded into nothing more than a glittering spec in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> imagine if anakin's force ghost did more than just stand there looking pretty. 
> 
> come and visit me on tumblr! i'm mexicanlukeskywalker on there!


End file.
